


Martin Has Tics, Tim Has Worms

by Doodlelupin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (i dont think i said it outright but tics are extra common with adhd), (mentioned-not actually present), Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martim Week 2021 (The Magnus Archives), Martin Blackwood Has ADHD, Mentioned Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Mentioned Not-Them Sasha James, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Triggers, i wrote this as martim but if you want it to be platonic it can be, tics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:22:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29294358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doodlelupin/pseuds/Doodlelupin
Summary: Martin's got tics and Tim's got worms (or does he?)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: Martim Week 2021





	Martin Has Tics, Tim Has Worms

Martin twitched his lips. He held in a grunt of frustration, balling his hand into a fist under his desk. He willed himself to stop. But trying to hold back a tic was like trying to tell yourself not to scratch an itch; impossible and uncomfortable. Eventually he gave in. Two twitches of the top lip, one of the bottom lip. Then repeat. And repeat. And repeat. He could half focus on the tic and half focus on his work. It took him twice as long to get anything done, but what else was he supposed to do?

He’d dealt with tics since he was a kid. His mother had taken him to the doctor for what she thought was a stubborn cough, but it had turned out to be a tic. That time he’d felt like he had to clear his throat. The doctor had told them it was common, natural, and ultimately not harmful. Some of them could be a bit disruptive, but there wasn’t much that could be done about it.

Having a name for it helped, but he still got frustrated with them. As a kid he didn’t mind too much, but as an adult he felt a lot worse about it. He had secretly hoped it’d be something he could grow out of, something he’d have learned to suppress by now.

He knew of ways to manage them. Some of them could be simplified; instead of having to twitch his lips, sometimes rolling them back between his teeth was enough. He also knew they got worse with stress and lack of sleep, as most mental problems did.

He couldn’t exactly help on that front, though. He’d been attacked by a  _ worm woman _ , locked in his own flat for  _ two weeks _ , then had to live at his work, which was  _ also _ attacked by the worm woman. How could he not be a little stressed out? And how was he expected to sleep after all that? He hadn’t been great at handling  _ normal _ anxiety, nevermind all this nonsense.

Jon and Tim’s many wounds were almost fully healed, aside from Jon’s leg. He still walked with a cane, and probably would for some time. The scars were a constant reminder of what they’d all been through, along with the lingering...worm smell. When Tim got back from his time off he lit candles at his desk until he was told off by Elias and Jon for it. He had threatened to go to HR about it, but they all knew he was bluffing. They had more pressing issues to deal with than scented candles.

Speaking of which. Martin shook his head to snap himself out of the little trance he’d gone into. He needed some tea. He pushed himself away from his desk and headed to the break room to put the kettle on. He pulled down three mugs from the shelf: one for himself, one for Jon and one for Tim. Sasha had left early. Somehow she’d talked Jon into letting her skip out for the afternoon so she could go on a date with her new boyfriend under the guise of investigating a nearby museum. Martin was a bit jealous she got to leave this hellhole early, but honestly? Good for her.

He prepared each of their cups and headed back into the office to a sight that nearly made him drop them. Tim was scratching at his arms  _ hard _ , a look of sheer terror on his face. Martin put the cups down on the nearest desk and sprinted over, hugging Tim tight, pinning his arms to his chest to still his scratching hands. Tim tried to wriggle free.

“No- W-Worms! Martin! Get  _ off- _ ” He thrashed, trying his hardest to push Martin off but he held fast.

“There aren’t any worms, Tim. They’re all gone. You’re safe. I’m trying to stop you from scratching your arms raw!” Martin tried to soothe him through gritted teeth. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to hold him still.

“But- But-I-” Tim stammered. He was starting to look more confused than scared, which was a good sign. He gave a few more shakes before slumping into Martin’s arms, resigned. 

“You’re safe. I promise.” Martin said softly. Tim nodded slowly.

“Y-You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Do you want me to check?” Martin asked. He looked at Tim. He looked  _ exhausted _ . He nodded. Martin slowly pulled away from him, taking his hands and gently pulling Tim’s arms out in front of him so he could look at them. There were red lines up and down his arms from his nails and he’d broken the skin in a few spots, but no worms. He flipped Tim’s hands over to see the other side of his arms. Same situation.

“See? No worms. Do you want some plasters? I have a box in my desk.”

“I...I should be alright.” Tim said unconvincingly.

“Are you sure? It’s no problem.” Martin pressed. Tim sighed.

“Alright.”

“Good. One minute, then.” He brought Tim his tea from where he’d left it on Sasha’s desk. Jon’s could wait.

"Sorry, Martin. I guess I saw something out of the corner of my eye and I thought-" Tim sighed.

“I've been there, dont worry about it. Drink that.” Martin patted him on the shoulder and got his plasters out of his desk.

“Thanks, Martin.” Tim said as Martin pulled his chair over. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Martin replied. He wordlessly took Tim’s hand and pulled his arm over the arm of his chair, setting to work applying the plasters.

“Oh, Martin, you don't have to-”

“I want to.” Martin replied a bit too fast. He felt his face flush. “I-I want to make sure you’re alright.” He paid extra attention to the plaster he was opening to avoid looking at Tim for a minute. He peeked up. Tim was smiling at him gratefully.

“Drink your tea.” Martin mumbled. Tim laughed and took a sip.

“Perfectly made, thanks, Mart-o.” A nickname. Martin almost breathed a sigh of relief. Tim was back to normal. He settled for a pleased grin.

“You’re very welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> can we get an f in the chat for jon's tea? its definitely cold by now


End file.
